


We Owed You One

by FlutterFyre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5 + 1, 5 Times, Blanket Permission, Cameo by Derek Hale, Epilepsy Warning, High School, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic, Middle School, Pack Feels, Podfic Welcome, Stilinski Family Feels, Teenagers can be cruel, multiple POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 05:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2417147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutterFyre/pseuds/FlutterFyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles saves people. It’s what he does. It’s what he’s always done. </p><p>or</p><p>5 times Stiles saved other people and one time they saved him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I — Erica, 2008

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick warning that this fic does describe an epileptic seizure, but as I have never had one and am not a medical professional, I do not profess to be any sort of authority on the subject, so my apologies if I offend — it is not my intent. 
> 
> Any and all mistakes are my own. Constructive criticism is always welcome, as I am eager to improve both my writing and my works.
> 
> A HUGE thanks to the writers in the Root Cellar (TW writers' chat) as without them and the word wars this story would still be languishing in my WIP folder.
> 
> Also, gigantic, enormous and unending thanks to both terpinleather and BootsnBlossoms for their love, support, and suggestions throughout the writing of this fic and to terpinleather for the beta-ing. You ladies are FABULOUS!!! <3 <3 <3

Erica felt the ocean surge and recede, a wave forming and crashing in her head as the metallic tang of blood hit her tongue like phantom taste. _No!_ She staggered past a row of lockers to the closed door of her darkened homeroom and turned the doorknob halfheartedly, already knowing what she would find.

It was locked.

The wave inside her mind rose again and she slid her backpack off her shoulder. Clutching the straps, Erica sank to the floor. _Not here. Please, not here!_ Her back was braced against the wall as she stared in horror at the mass of other student roaming the school hallways, surrounding her. Pressing her clenched fists against her temples, she was unable to hold back a moan as she realized there was nothing she could do to stop what was happening.

“No-o-o-o,” she whimpered.

It had been almost two years since her last attack in sixth grade and the side-eyed glances and whispers continued to follow her through the middle school corridors. She had really been hoping to leave the eighth grade with some small modicum of dignity, but apparently that was not her luck. The floor fell out from under her then and she skidded into darkness as she felt her eyes roll up and to the side. Her neck and arms began to twitch and spasm.

Darkness descended on her vision as Erica sensed her arms and legs thrashing. There was a loud metallic crash as her foot kicked a locker. It felt like something was wrapped ever tighter around her chest and she could hardly breathe.

The roar of excited student voices rose, echoing through the enclosed and metal-lined space, growing steadily louder. A caw of excitement came from beside her and Erica knew she had been spotted.

_No, please. Don’t look at me. Just go away. Call the nurse, but leave me alone!_

The knowledge that people were watching as Erica lost all control of her body was _almost_ as terrifying as the loss of self-control itself. It was definitely more humiliating.

Growing louder, the babbling din rose as though in protest, but then the voices slowly moved away. A calm and somewhat familiar voice spoke nearby. “It’s okay, they’re leaving. The nurse will be here soon. You’re safe.”

Something soft was shoved beneath her head and a warm hand rested lightly on her hair for an indeterminate — heh, that was one of their recent vocabulary words — time. Slowly, so slowly, the panic in her chest eased and she felt like she could breathe again.

After what felt like a lifetime, but past experience had told her was probably only a minute or two at most, Erica felt her muscles release and relax and the blackness faded to grey. The panic gradually faded. Her muscles felt like warm jello and and she whimpered, tasting actual, sharp, metallic blood on her sore tongue. Gentle hands held her carefully on her side, petting her arm, before pulling away.

“Young man,” an authoritative female voice overrode the low reassurances that had been continually crooned as both a soundtrack and a lifeline. “I need you to move back.”

There was a soft murmur of assent and then, “Please, just… keep the other kids away from her? They don’t need to see her like this.”

~~~~~

“You know… ” the school nurse mused as they waited for Erica’s mom to pick her up and take her to the hospital for a standard check-up following her seizure. “Your friend took excellent care of you this morning. Did you teach him what to do if you seized?”

Erica’s brow furrowed. _My friend? I don’t have any friends._ She shifted on the cot where she lay and grimaced at the feel of her damp jeans. After so many years, she had almost become accustomed to wetting herself during a seizure, but it never became less mortifying. Especially when at school. Who knew what the vicious bullies known as her fellow students had seen or, God forbid, recorded?!?

Remembering a gentle hand on her head and the messily folded jacket that had pillowed her head, protecting it from the hard floor, Erica tried to place the voice she had heard, but no name or face came to mind. “I don’t… I don’t remember. Can you describe... him?”

She didn’t know if a simple description would help until she heard the nurse’s response, “Skinny. Pale skin with visible moles. Brown hair in a buzz cut. Very intense and excitable. Any of this helping?”

“Stiles Stilinski.” Erica felt all the air leave her lungs in a rush. Stiles was a geeky, hyper, annoying loudmouth who had been in her homeroom throughout middle school. Between being a _massive_ nerd, a hyperactive spaz, and the Sheriff’s son, Stiles just might be the only kid in their grade who was _lower_ down the social pecking order than she was. She really didn’t want to be indebted to him; his incessant mooning over Lydia Martin was actually rather pathetic. _Why did it have to be Stiles?_

The door to the nurse’s office opened and her mom rushed in, looking frazzled and worried. “Sweetie, are you okay?”

Swinging her legs off the cot, Erica rose unsteadily to her feet. She shook off the supportive hand offered by the nurse and squared her shoulders. “I’m fine, Mom. Can we just go?”

The sooner she got out of this hell hole known as school, the better.

She groaned at the sight that greeted her as they walked through the school offices. Speak of the devil. Stiles Stilinski was sitting on the bench outside the Principal’s Office. Their eyes met and she stopped like a deer in the path of an on-coming car. His eyebrows shot up as he looked at her, tilting his head in question. The expression on his face seemed more concerned than condescending and she remembered he had never participated in any of the regular mocking their classmates engaged in. He had also apparently just taken excellent care of her when she was unable to care for herself.

Wrestling with the instinctive urge to duck her head and just slink away, she gave a jerky nod and flashed him a quick thumbs up in silent thanks.

The Principal’s door opened and Stiles’ dad, the Sheriff, stepped out in uniform. He was frowning as he grasped his son by the upper arm, pulling Stiles to his feet and steering him out of the office ahead of Erica and her mom.

As Erica and her mom followed in their wake, the Sheriff’s words drifted back to them. “Stealing other kid’s phones; what were you thinking?”

“Borrowed. I gave them back,” Stiles protested.

“You dropped them on the floor. Three of them are busted and now I have the questionable honor of buying new phones for those kids.” The Sheriff went on to grumble about how this was not how he wanted to spend his hard-earned money, but his tone was more resigned than irritated.

“Just be sure they don’t have cameras, ’kay?” She heard Stiles request before the building doors closed, cutting off anything the Sheriff might have said in response.

~~~~~

The following week, Erica couldn’t stop staring at Stiles in Homeroom and Math — the only two classes they shared — as well as across the lunch room where he sat with his friend Scott, laughing and goofing off and talking with his mouth full. As expected, rumors about her seizure were flying through the student body, resulting in whispers and giggles that followed her from class to class.

Whatever. She was determined not to let the petty words of her peers bother her. At least this time there were no photos or videos — that was the usually downside of nearly every student having a smartphone of their own. She had wondered at her good fortune until she overheard three girls gossiping in the restroom.

“...that stupid spaz Stiles — what kind of name is _that_? — stole my phone and deleted the video I was making. I mean, come on, Freaky Reyes looking like some horror movie reject on the floor, why _wouldn’t_ I video it?”

Hidden in a stall, Eric bit her fist to stifle her gasp at the callous words, straining to hear the response.

“Count yourself lucky,” came the icy, unruffled voice of Stiles’ well-known crush, Lydia. Erica bit back a groan at realizing the Queen Bee had likely witnessed her humiliation. If Lydia was there, it was a wonder Stiles had even noticed Erica thrashing about on the floor. “He destroyed Jimmy’s phone when he threw it down.”

“Color me so not surprised,” piped up an unknown voice. “He’s such a waste of space. I’m sure Jimmy made him pay for it after school.”

A smacking of lips indicated lip gloss had been applied, and Lydia spoke again. “God, I can’t _wait_ until next year when we are at high school, where the students aren’t all losers and dweebs.”

The voices faded as the door to the hallway opened and closed. Erica waited a few minutes before peering under the stall walls to make certain she was alone. Automatically, she approached the sinks and washed her hands, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she did so.

The annoying zits that dotted her face, reminded her of Stiles’ moles and she couldn’t wrap her brain around the fact that someone almost the entire student body — including her, she was ashamed to admit — had written off as a Grade A loser… wasn’t. Not only had he taken care of her during her seizure, it seemed he had gone out of his way and even put himself at risk to make sure no one could further humiliate her by posting photos or videos to the internet.

She couldn’t stop the smile that curved her lips. While everyone may consider Stiles to be a dweeb, just like Peter Parker — no, Bruce Wayne — he really was a hero. Her very own save-the-day superhero.

He was Batman.

~~~~~


	2. Part II — Isaac, 2010

“Why?!?” Isaac screamed. 

There was no answer from the empty room. He screamed again until he ran out of breath and it faded to a pained whimper. “Why him?!? Why Camden?”

Tears streaming down his face, Isaac reached out blindly for something he could hit, throw, break. Fumbling, his fingers encountered a book and he grabbed what turned out to be a textbook, hefting it for a moment, before hauling off and throwing it as hard as he could. He howled incoherently as it slammed into the wall and exploded as its binding broke.

Pages fluttered to the floor as Isaac turned his attention to the student desks lined up before him. With a grief-filled roar, he picked up the one in front of him and slammed it down on top of its neighbor, wood splinters flying.

Stumbling forward, Isaac shoved furniture out of his path, grabbing and throwing anything that fit in his hand.

"Camden," he sobbed. "Why?"

Every time his eyes closed in pain, he saw the text from his dad, _Just got word. Your brother's dead. It's just you and me now, kid_.

His older brother — his idol — was gone. The one person Isaac trusted, the one person who truly gave a damn about him, was gone.

The text had arrived as he was leaving History class and heading to the cafeteria for lunch. His father’s blunt words had frozen Isaac in the middle of the crowded hallway, uncaring of the jostling of other students; the cacophony of yelling teenagers and slamming lockers faded to insignificance as Isaac stared unseeing at his phone.

Unable to face the noisy and crowded lunchroom, Isaac had shoved his phone in his pocket and headed on autopilot for the temporary classrooms on the edge the school grounds. Finding one open, he had hoped to hide away with his pain and take some time to mourn his brother in private. 

The last thing he had expected was to lose control just like his dad.

Eventually, the emotion that had fueled his rampage petered out and Isaac realized he was kneeling on the floor next to the wall, his fists bruised and tingling and his knuckles scraped raw.

“Dude!”

Isaac looked up to see the skinny boy he shared the bench with at lacrosse games — what was his name… nevermind, it didn’t matter — standing in the doorway.

“Get out of here,” he snarled at the intruder, glancing around him for something he could throw at the kid to chase him away, but everything within reach was already in useless pieces.

Instead of leaving, the idiot kid walked towards him, only stopping when a more animalistic growl grew deep in Isaac’s chest. “Go. Away.” Isaac demanded, not wanting anyone to see his grief at losing his only brother, his anchor in a very unstable home.

The other boy raised his hands, palms out to show he wasn’t a threat. “Dude, I can see that you’re upset about something, but you might want to head out before anyone else — like, say, a teacher? — shows up, cause I know for a fact that there’s a class in here after lunch.” He glanced around at the destruction surrounding there and grimaced, amending, “Well, usually there’s a class here at any rate.”

Waving an arm at the room in general and thankfully not looking at Isaac, the kid kept talking, “Man, this place is really trashed, so I don’t know what they’ll do about today.” He paused to meet Isaac’s gaze, steady and calm, even a little forceful, belying the image Isaac had always had of him. “Somehow I doubt you want detention on top of whatever it is that has you so upset.”

Isaac blinked and looked around him, seeing the mess he’d made for the first time. The supposed-to-be-temporary-but-somehow-more-like-permanent classroom was in shambles. It looked like a bomb had detonated. His own personal warzone. 

Books and papers were everywhere, desks were overturned — the tabletops of a couple had splintered; pieces of wood lying on the floor nearby. The end window was shattered, shards of glass scattered in with the rest of the mess on the floor.

 _Shit._ He had really done it this time. He was going to be in so much trouble and his dad was going to— 

Panic spiked at the thought of how his father was going to react — no doubt he was already drunk following the visit from the uniformed death goon squad. Getting a call from the school about Isaac’s not-so-little bout of property damage would be just the thing to send the old man right over the edge. Again.

The thought of what awaited him in the basement at home was enough to make Isaac want to whimper, scream, and cry some more. There was no one to save him; no one to protect him now. His father never used to lock him up, but a lot of things had changed for the worse after first his mom died and then his brother enlisted in the military. And now there was no one but Isaac left to face his father’s drunken, incoherent rages. Isaac had been counting the weeks until Camden’s tour in Afghanistan would end and he’d come home. Well, he could stop counting.

Black spots were starting to appear in Isaac’s unseeing vision and he couldn’t seem to breathe.

“Hey, hey. Hey!” Over his harsh breaths, Isaac could hear the boy’s voice calling to him, but he was unable to draw enough air to respond.

“Lahey!”

His name, sharply spoken using Coach’s intonation, was enough to snap Isaac back into the here and now. He blinked, staring dazedly at the teen crouched in front of him. Eyes the color of Coca-Cola were watching him intently and despite being well inside his personal space, the other boy had been smart enough not to touch Isaac. 

With a start, Isaac realized that no-name boy knew _his_ name and didn’t that just figure? Seeming to speak without ever stopping for breath, the boy was still talking and Isaac had to focus to hear what he was saying.

“Look, I don’t know where you just went, but it clearly was not a good place. Get out of here before anyone else shows up. I’ll find someone and let them know the room has been vandalized but the perp was gone before I got here.” Standing, he stuck out a hand in an offer to pull Isaac up as well.

“Won’t they think you did it?” Isaac wondered. That always seemed to be the case whenever _he_ reported something. He had quickly learned to keep his mouth shut and his head down.

“Nah, I always arrive early for class and I’m the Sheriff’s kid, to boot.” He rolled his eyes in such a dramatic fashion, Isaac almost huffed a laugh at the sight. “I’d have to be incredibly stupid to try something on this scale.”

Isaac, shook out his limbs and, glancing around him with chagrin. “Why would you cover for me?” _And take that risk?_

“We’re teammates, right?” The other teen met his gaze calmly, a crooked grin on his face as he shrugged one shoulder. “Besides, it’s not like you came here planning to destroy everything, right? Hey, I don’t know why you're so upset, but I know I was destructo-boy back when my mom died.”

And just like that, the black hole in Isaac’s chest opened back up, threatening to swallow him. His distress must have shown on his face, because, immediately his self-appointed protector took a step back, guilt flashing across his face.

“Aw crap. I’m sorry man, sometimes I just don’t know when to shut up. Like now. Maybe you should just hurry up and leave before I really stick my foot in it.”

Isaac edged past him and scurried out the door, pausing to look back at the kid who was standing in the middle of the room, scrubbing the back of his head with one hand as he stared with wide eyes at the wreckage surrounding him. 

“Thank you,” Isaac whispered as he turned and half-walked, half-jogged away, knowing the other boy couldn’t heard him, but grateful all the same.

Cutting between buildings, Isaac headed for the lacrosse field; maybe he could cut through the locker room and back into the school. He really didn’t feel like going and sitting through class, but common sense told him that anyone who was absent the rest of the day would be at the top of any list of suspects responsible for the mess he’d left behind. 

Besides, he wanted to go home and deal with his drunken dad even less.

~~~~~


	3. Part III — Danny, 2007

Danny was sitting in the Sheriff’s office, at the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department, across the desk from the the man himself. He was so screwed. Dang it, he knew he shouldn’t have given into to peer pressure and hacked into the Sheriff’s Department IT network, but the thrill of the challenge had been too tempting, and the alternative… well, now he was paying for it. Or would be soon. The weight of the uniformed man’s eyes staring at him felt as real as the trickle of sweat running down the middle of his back. 

Squirming uncomfortably in his chair, Danny started to speak only to have his voice crack and go out on him. He groaned inwardly. Screw puberty anyway. Annoyed he huffed and tried again. “So, uh, are you gonna call my mom and dad… sir?”

The Sheriff pressed his lips together so tightly that they formed a thin whitish line as he glanced at the open file in front of him. “You’re telling me you did this as a lark. Do you think this is some kind of joke? Because, I gotta tell you, kid, I’m not laughing.”

There was an expression of exasperated disbelief on his face as he stared at Danny from across the expanse of a desk almost overflowing with files, stacks of papers, and a computer monitor and keyboard. The man’s brow furrowed, and for a moment the expression on the Sheriff’s face looked remarkably like Danny’s own dad whenever Danny or one of his siblings was in trouble.

“Son, I’m not sure you realize just how serious an offense it is to hack into law enforcement computer systems.”

Actually Danny had a pretty good idea of exactly how serious the situation was. One phone call from the Sheriff to his parents and he was gonna be grounded until he was twenty-one. Maybe longer.

“Your parents could be fined up to $10,000.”

Danny’s mouth fell open. _$10,000!_ His parents didn’t have that kind of money; they weren’t the Whittemores!

He was still trying to digest that threat when his heart fell into his stomach at the Sheriff’s next words. 

“You could be sent away to Stockton.” The Sheriff raised a meaningful eyebrow as he stared at Danny as he took a swallow from a coffee mug that proclaimed its owner _The World’s Best Dad_. Danny respectfully disagreed.

After a moment of dead silence, his finally caught up to what the Sheriff was saying.

 _Wait — what?_ He might not be innocent, but it wasn’t like Danny was some teenage delinquent. Surely they wouldn’t send him to Juvie — he was only thirteen!

Shifting in his chair, Danny tried to figure out just what answers the Sheriff was looking for from him in order to end this nightmare when the man growled, “Stop. Just stop, okay?”

“Huh? I mean, yes sir?”

“I recognize that calculating look; my son wears it almost daily. Don’t even _try_ to tell me what you _think_ I want to hear. What I _want_ is for you to tell me _the truth_!”

Danny swallowed hard and stared down at where his hands were clasped in his lap. They’d caught him red-handed at school. He might as well come clean. Sort of.

“One of the other students bet me I couldn’t hack your network. I told him I could and he said, ‘Prove it.’ I know I should have backed down, but I had to show him. I didn’t steal anything. Heck, all I did was dig deep enough to prove I was there and then I left. I stole nothing and changed nothing. I didn’t do anything wrong.” Danny couldn’t stop the hitch in his voice as he tried to explain why he _shouldn’t_ be in Stockton-level trouble for what was really just a simple, harmless prank.

The Sheriff stared at him for several heartbeats and Danny was squirming in his chair by the time the man spoke. “Suppose you came home from school one day and found some strange person sitting on the sofa in your living room. What would you do?”

“If they weren’t there visiting with my parents, I’d call the cops to come arrest them.” The moment the words left his mouth, Danny realized where the Sheriff was going with this example. His mouth snapped shut and Danny felt his face heat in response.

“I see you get what I’m saying, son.”

Annoyed at walking into a trap, no matter how well set, Danny muttered rebelliously, “Not your son. You’re not my dad.”

“No, I’m not,” the Sheriff conceded. “Though he has been contacted and is on his way here.”

Danny swallowed hard. His dad was going to be so disappointed in him. As the eldest child, athletic and with good grades; his parents had high hopes for him to be the first to attend college, which wasn’t likely to happen if he ended up doing time in Juvie. Sure his records could be sealed once he hit eighteen, but his chances for any scholarship would be shot. 

Then there was the possible fine — he couldn’t do that to his parents!

The office door flew open, startling Danny out of his thoughts. A skinny boy with brown hair cut in super short in a strange looking buzz burst into the room. Danny thought he recognized him from a couple of classes; he had a funny name.

The kid tripped over nothing and stumbled a couple of steps, arms flailing, before catching himself just before hitting the paper-strewn desk.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff growled.

 _That_ was his name.

Stiles didn’t even look at Danny, his attention was focused one hundred percent on the uniformed man behind the desk who seemed intent on making Danny’s life fall apart.

“Dad, Scott just—”

“Stiles!” The Sheriff interrupted, crossing his arms and tilting his head meaningfully towards where Danny sat in silence.

Stiles turned and looked at Danny, his face lighting up as though just becoming aware that Danny was in the room. 

“Oh, hey Danny!” Stiles beamed.

“Hi, Stiles.” Danny was confused. Even though they shared classes, they had just exchanged more words than they had all year. 

Adding to his confusion, he could have sworn Stiles _winked_ at him before continuing to babble on at top speed.

“Look, uh, Danny, seriously thanks for all your support since my mom died. Last month was the anniversary and I know we really aren’t _that_ close, but you really made school easier to deal with when I… you know… got upset. Anyway, it r-really m-means a lot t-to me,” Stiles stumbled over the words, apparently choked up and Danny felt his heart drop into his stomach. _Stiles had lost his mother?_ He refocused to hear Stiles end with, “I just didn't know how to tell you.”

Taken aback, Danny didn’t know what to say — he hadn’t even known Stiles’ mother was dead — then he saw Stiles’ eyes narrow and roll sideways and he caught on. “It was nothing. Seriously. I can’t even imagine what you go through. I know if my Mom…”

Realizing he was now babbling himself and about a pretty sensitive subject, Danny shut up. He glanced up at the Sheriff who had a befuddled expression as he looked from his son to Danny and back, like he’s not sure what to make of this new information, or if he should even believe it. He opted for hiding behind his badge. 

“Stiles…” the Sheriff sighed. “I’m working here. Was there something you needed? You mentioned Scott?”

“Yeah, see, Scott was telling me that Super Mario Galaxy just came out and I was hoping—”

“Stiles.” The Sheriff braced his elbows on his desk and lowered his head into his hands for a moment before raising it and looking at his son once more. “Please tell me you did not just interrupt my work to ask for _a new video game_?” 

Danny swallowed an inappropriate chuckle at the disbelief in the Sheriff’s voice.

“So...that would be a no?” Stiles had the audacity to pout.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff growled again and raised his arm, index finger pointing to the door.

As the boy turned to leave, Danny saw a flash of a smile and another wink before his face schooled back to disappointment and he trudged out, pulling the door closed behind him. _What the heck?_

Silence settled over the office in the wake of Hurricane Stiles, broken by the abrupt ringing of the phone on the Sheriff’s desk.

“Stilinski,” he barked into the handset. “He is? Good. Send him back.”

Hanging up the phone, the Sheriff busied himself with shuffling and straightening the papers and files before him, haphazardly clearing the center of his desk. Setting a stack of files to one side, the Sheriff had just folded his hands before him when the silence was broken again by a quick knock and the door opened to reveal a deputy closely followed by Danny’s dad, a disappointed scowl on his face.

_Nuts._

~~~~~

Danny peered through the Monday morning mass of student bodies weaving intricate paths along the locker lined corridor. He was looking for the Sheriff’s kid. It had been a boring and uncomfortable weekend for Danny,throughout which his parents had reminded him over and over just how lucky he was that Sheriff was showing unexpected leniency in not pressing charges over Danny’s ‘little computer stunt’.

His dad had appeared stunned when the Sheriff explained why he had been called down to station to retrieve his delinquent son; his shock fading to grateful disbelief when the Sheriff announced he would not be pressing charges.

Though he had no proof, Danny was fairly certain the Sheriff’s change of heart was due entirely to the lying but ultimately successful interference of one Stiles Stilinski. What he couldn’t figure out was why Stiles had lied on his behalf. Until the previous Friday, Danny couldn’t have said he knew who Stiles was. 

Now he was pretty sure he’d never forget him. 

Spotting Stiles fiddling with the combination dial on his locker, Danny made a beeline down the hall, the crowd of teens and pre-teens parting before him like the proverbial Red Sea. He stopped next to the other teen, but Stiles didn’t look up; if anything, he seemed to hunch a little bit further into himself.

“Hey, uh, Stiles, right?”

The awkward kid startled at Danny’s address, juggling and almost dropping his books as he spun to face him. “Oh, hey Danny. Um, how’s it going?” he stammered before biting his bottom lip, eyes darting around, looking everywhere but at Danny.

Danny followed his gaze and looked around them, but saw nothing but the usual ebb and flow of students around them. He returned his attention to Stiles, but the other kid still refused to meet his eyes. 

“Look,” Danny started over. “I don’t know why you lied to your dad about me—”

“It was nuthin’.”

“It wasn’t nothing and we both know it. You seriously saved my butt the other day,” Danny insisted in a low voice. “We both know that you telling your dad that I was supportive what with the anniversary of your mom’s death — and I don’t even know when that was! — is the only reason I’m not in Juvie right now!” He stopped, breathing heavy and feeling inexplicably guilty that he hadn’t even known Stiles’ mom was dead.

Finally Stiles met his gaze, and the calm directness of his golden brown eyes only increased Danny sense of vulnerability, causing his to shuffle his feet in discomfort. Danny hated that he knew next to nothing about the boy in front of him, especially given how readily Stiles had lied to his father on Danny’s behalf.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why what?” Stiles feigned ignorance, but the fact that he still wouldn’t meet Danny’s eyes was a dead giveaway.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Because I know.”

“What?” Now Danny was confused.

“I was there, okay? Last week. When you hacked the Sheriff’s department. I was in the lab. I heard the threats.”

Danny swallowed hard. He didn’t remember Stiles being in the computer lab that day. Then again, Stiles wasn’t exactly someone who normally pinged on Danny’s personal radar. He was embarrassed to admit it, but up until he had burst into the Sheriff’s office last Friday, Stiles could have sat in front of Danny in every single class and his presence would not have registered.

The thought that Stiles had heard those bullies threatening to out him to the entire school— 

_Crap, Stiles knew!_

Unable to breathe, Danny stared at the other boy and saw the corner of Stiles’ mouth quirk up in a half-smile that wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Danny. I won’t say anything. It’s no one’s business but yours.”

Danny stared at him in stunned silence. Why wouldn’t Stiles try to get something from Danny now that he knew his secret?

“You know..." Stiles started and then stopped, looking unexpectedly vulnerable. His eyes darted around, once again looking everywhere but at Danny.

_Of course. Here it comes._

“What?” Danny almost felt bad when Stiles jumped at his gruff tone. 

The other boy chewed on his lower lip, face screwed up as he fidgeted without speaking.

Danny huffed a breath and tried again. “What were you going to say, Stiles?”

“I was just thinking that by staying silent, you just give bullies like that more power over you.”

“And announcing to the school that I’m gay isn’t going to bring out bullies by the dozens?”

“I didn’t say that!” Stiles floundered, skinny arms flailing. He looked like he was about to lose his balance and fall over. “I mean, sure there are bullies, we both know that, but you’re hardly puny. It’s not like they’re gonna beat you up or duct tape you to the flagpole.” His hands flew in emphasis, waving erratically at Danny.

“Besides,” Stiles continued. “You’re one of the cool kids. Everyone likes you. In fact, I’ll bet you could even make being gay cool!”

Danny couldn’t help it, he laughed at the earnest expression that accompanied Stiles’ exclamation, even as he considered the other boy’s words. After all, his family had known he was gay since forever and were one hundred percent supportive — even his grandparents. His recent brush with the law had caused more waves than admitting to his dad that he liked boys.

If coming out at school made it even a little bit easier for other kids to accept their own sexuality, then maybe it was something he should think about.

~~~~~


	4. Part IV — Jackson, 2001

“Not theirs. Not theirs. Not theirs.” Jackson muttered over and over, stepping in time to the chanted words. Not. Right. Theirs. Left. Not. Right. Theirs. Left. 

Ignoring the trees surrounding him, he looked instead at his feet, as he had already tripped over a tree root and fallen, skinning his hands and knees. He hadn’t cried though; he was six. He was a big boy now and big boys didn’t cry.

It was getting harder and harder to lift his feet to step over the roots, branches and even fallen trees. He was getting tired and his steps slowed and dragged until he tripped again, this time catching himself against the rough bark of a nearby tree. Pain blazed from his palms as the raw areas took the brunt of his weight.

“Bad tree,” Jackson scolded, pushing himself upright again, whimpering at the burning sensation in his hands. He wished he was home but he didn’t know where that was anymore.

His bottom lip stuck out and he remembered being gently teased for pouting by his — no, _not his_ — mom. As he had learned that afternoon, Jackson didn’t have a mom. In fact, he didn’t really have a mom _or_ a dad.

He was ‘dopted.

~~~~~

_”Son,” Jackson sat on the edge of the sofa, heels bumping against the fabric as he swung his feet. Crouched at eye-level in front of him, all suited up from being at work, was his father. The serious look on his father’s face made Jackson shiver._

_“Jackson,” his father started again. “You know your mother and I love you, right?”_

_“Yes, Daddy.”_

_“And you’re our big boy, aren’t you?”_

_“Yes, Daddy.” He nodded his head up and down in as large of movements as he could manage._

_“Well your mother and I think you are old enough to know the truth about how you came to live with us.”_

_Jackson stared at his father, confused. Hadn’t he always lived with Mommy and Daddy? “What do you mean?”_

_“Well, Jackson, while you did come to be a big part of our family when you were just a baby, your mother and I are not your birth parents. Your birth mother and father were unable to raise you and so Mommy and I got to have you as our son.”_

_“But you and Mommy are my mom and dad.” Jackson’s lip trembled. Maybe Daddy and Mommy were unhappy with him and they had decided to trade him in for a newer son like they did with Daddy’s car._

_“Yes, we are also your mommy and daddy; we adopted you, so you have us AND you have your birth mommy and daddy.”_

_“But where are my real mommy and daddy? Who are they? Why didn’t they want me?”_

_When his dad didn’t answer immediately, Jackson ran out the door as fast as his legs would carry him. He didn’t belong here anymore._

~~~~~

Jackson’s stomach was making growly noises as he continued to stumble further into the woods. He had no idea where he was — all the trees looked the same — though hadn’t he past that toppled tree trunk before? He glared at it, fighting the blurriness in his eyes. He wasn’t gonna cry. He wasn’t. He was a big boy and he wasn’t lost.

He wasn’t.

Giving up, he sat on the ground and leaned against the tree trunk behind him as his face grew wet and it got harder to breathe through his nose. He snuffled noisily and scrubbed his hands over his face.

He was tired and hungry and he didn’t know where he was or how to get home. He wanted his Mommy. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he pulled them into his chest and yawned. He was so tired.

~~~~~

“Hey!”

Jackson opened his eyes — when had he fallen asleep? — and looked up to see a brown haired boy about his age, all skinny arms and legs.

“You okay?” the boy asked.

Rubbing clenched fists against his eyes, Jackson scowled. “I’m FINE!” he grumped forcefully.

The look of disbelief on the kid’s face might have been funny if it hadn’t been directed at Jackson. 

“Really? Because you sorta look like you’re lost.” The kid looked around. “Where’s your string?”

“Huh? Who are you?”

“I’m Stiles. Who are you?”

“I‘m Jackson. What are you talking about? What string?”

The kid raised his hand. In it he gripped a spool of kite string, the end of which stretched behind him through the trees. “My mom gave it to me so I wouldn’t get losted. Why didn’t your mom give you string?”

“I don’t have a mom.”

“Pfftb! Everyone has a mom.”

“Not me. They didn’t want me. I’m ‘dopted.” Jackson tried, he really did, but he couldn’t stop the hiccupping sob that slipped out, so he buried his face in his knees once more.

“There, there.” 

A small hand was patting his hair and Jackson raised his head again to find the boy crouched next to him. The hand moved down and grabbed Jackson’s hand, threading their fingers together. 

“C’mon,” he said, standing and pulled Jackson up with him. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Jackson was confused.

Stiles raised the spool of kite string again. “We follow the string back to my mom, that’s where! Then you don’t have to cry ‘cause my mom’s the bestest. She can fix anything!”

They followed Stiles’ string, winding their way through the shadows and trees, until they came to a sunlit field where a pretty lady sat on a blanket, reading. 

“Mom! Mom!” Dropping both Jackson’s hand and the spool of string, Stiles ran ahead and threw himself at the lady when she looked up.

“Stiles!” she yelped in surprise, only just catching him as he dove towards her. Laughing, she rolled with the impact of his gangly body against hers. 

Looking from her son to Jackson, still standing where Stiles had abandoned him, she asked, “Sweetie, who’s your friend?”

The overly excited boy bounced back to his feet and ran back to Jackson, grabbing his hand once more and dragging Jackson over to stand next his mom’s blanket. Swinging their joined hands, Stiles introduced him.

“Mom, this is Jackson. Jackson, this is the world’s greatest mom — my mom! Jackson, doesn’t have a mom, Mom, can we keep him?”

Jackson stared at Stiles. He didn’t think he had ever heard anyone talk so fast before.

With a gentle smile, Stiles’ mom motioned for Jackson and Stiles to sit next to her on the blanket. Stiles sat and tried to tug Jackson down to join them.

Glaring, Jackson dug his heels in and shook his head. “Nuh-uh. I don’t know you.” 

Stiles released his hand and snuggled up against his mom’s side, squirming until his head was in her lap as he stared up at Jackson.

“Jackson...Whittemore, right?” Stiles’ mom asked in a soft voice.

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you know that your parents are looking for you?”

Jackson stared at her without blinking and slowly shook his head.

“Well they are.”

“Nuh-uh. I don’t have ‘rents. ‘M ‘dopted.”

“Oh sweetie, is that what you think being adopted means?”

Jackson nodded vigorously.

“That’s not what it means at all, sweetie.” She was paying attention to Jackson even though her fingers combed through Stiles’s short hair. “In fact, being adopted means that you are so special that you have _two_ sets of parents. The Whittemores wanted you to be their son very much. Right now, they’re very scared because they don’t know what you are.”

A warm feeling grew in Jackson’s chest. “Really?”

“Really. How about I call them and let them know you’re okay?”

“‘Kay.”

Pulling a phone out of the bag next to her, Stiles’ mom pressed a couple of buttons and held it to her ear. “Honey? You can cancel that Amber Alert. Jackson Whittemore is here with me.” Pause. “Seriously. We’re at The Preserve.” Pause. “Would you believe Stiles found him and brought him to me, asking if we could keep him?”

~~~~~


	5. Part V — Cora, 2005

Cora swayed on the bench seat as the school bus bounced and jostled along the road that led to the Beacon Hills Preserve and her family’s home nearby. Peering through the window, she saw a couple of cars on the shoulder up ahead, near where her bus stop was. It looked like someone was having car trouble. Or maybe a flat tire.

Given that the trunks of both cars were open, it was probably a flat tire.

She watched as the bus slowed to a stop, brakes protesting painfully in her ears, just past the two cars and frowned when she realized she would have to walk past the two vehicles in order to get to the turnoff towards home. At least they were on the other side of the road.

With a wary glance, she climbed down the steps and hopped to the paved shoulder before adjusting her backpack on her left shoulder and trudged towards home. The bus door squeaked shut and the engine roared as the bus drove away. It was then that she noticed the attention of the two men across the narrow highway. Her heart skittered faster and her breath caught when they saw her looking back at them and they did not look away.

_No, no, no. Please don’t let them be hunters._

Quickening her steps but refusing to actually run, Cora wished other kids lived nearby, not so much for the company because human friends, while not forbidden, were…complicated. No, Cora wished for nearby neighbors because even one more child getting off at this stop might have given them pause. 

She jerked to a stop as a pair of black boots and thick legs, clothed in camouflage print, blocked her way forward. Glancing back, she saw the two men from before behind her and realized she was not only outnumbered but surrounded.

“Well, well, look at what I found.” 

The deep voice of the man in front of her was rough and cold and jerked her attention back to him as her heart rate spiked with fear. This was so not good.

“A lone pup out in the woods. Are you lost, little pup?” 

His hands hung empty at his sides, but her mom and the pack elders had always warned that a hunter was never unarmed or harmless, no matter how they appeared.

“Where’s your _pack_?”

A whimper built in the back of Cora’s throat but she swallowed it.

She wanted to howl for her mom, her Alpha, her family, her pack, but the caution ingrained over her lifetime warned doing so would only confirm the men’s suspicions. Right now they had no _proof_. 

She needed to keep it that way.

Raising her chin defiantly, she tried to step around the man in front of her. “Excuse me,” she murmured politely and bit back a growl when the men laughed at the slight tremor in her voice.

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere, bitch.”

Cora gasped, instinctively jerking back and evading the grasp of the man in front of her as he reached for her arm. Ducking low, she dropped her backpack and tried to run, only to have her stupid braid caught, ending her escape attempt. Distantly, the squeal of the bus brakes registered as she panted, struggling to maintain control and remain human, despite her wolf’s terror at being trapped and the grip on her braid tightened, reeling her back.

“Nuh-uh-uh, I don’t think so.” His breath, hot against her cheek, smelled rancid.

One of the men behind her spoke up, “You’re gonna help us trap a whole pack of filthy, rabid beasts, aren’t you?”

Mindless fear choking her, Cora could hardly breathe. Distantly, she heard the uneven slapping of shoes on pavement as someone approached, running. _Please let it be my family,_ she prayed, even though whoever it was was coming from the wrong direction.

“Cora! Hey, Cora!”

The boy’s shrill voice was was familiar, but not familiar like family. Familiar like… a classmate. 

Able to turn her head as the death-grip on her braid was released, Cora looked behind her to see the Sheriff’s kid running towards them. Attention on the boy, she sensed rather than saw the hunters moving away from her.

About a school bus length away, he stopped running and bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. His book bag was nowhere to be seen.

“Why,” he paused, panting for several breaths before continuing. Meanwhile, the three men each took another step back from Cora, whether to distance themselves or prepare to lunge towards the boy was unknown. Cora could only hope he hadn’t put himself in serious danger. He was just a human, but still…

Finally catching his breath, he began again. “Why didn’t you wake me when the bus stopped? You _know_ I told my Dad, the Sheriff, we’d be working on our Science Fair project this afternoon!”

He looked up and met Cora’s gaze, his eyes filled with questions, but determined all the same. His cell phone was clutched in one hand. 

The hunters continued to back slowly away from Cora, but made no move towards the boy as his pronouncement that he was the Sheriff’s son seemed to have erected a sort of protective shield around him. 

As the hunters crossed the narrow highway, the boy walked over to where Cora stood, picking up her backpack and handing it to her. Cora watched the hunters as they closed the trunk and hatch on their car and SUV respectively, climbed in and drove away. She waited until the taillights disappeared around the bend before returning her attention to the boy beside her, tugging on her arm.

Tilting her head to one side, she focused all her attention on him, trying to figure out what he was doing there, but at the same time, so very thankful he was. All she wanted to do was race home to safety but now she felt responsible for this boy — what was his name? Stan? No, Stiles! That was it! Stiles.

“Why are you here, Stiles?” She raised her eyebrows. “We don’t _have_ a Science Fair Project.”

“No, no we don’t, but _they_ ,” Stiles jerked his thumb in the direction the hunters had taken, “didn’t know that, did they?”

A slow grin curved his mouth and Cora felt an answering one form on her face. “No, they didn’t.”

Swinging her backpack onto her shoulder, she grabbed Stiles’ hand and paused. “Where’s your bookbag?”

“Nuts! I must’ve left it on the bus — the bus! I’m supposed to be let off at the Station to meet my dad! No, no, no! Now what am I gonna do?” He scrubbed his palms over his face before sliding them up so he could lace his fingers across the top of his head. His expression was pure misery.

“Come on.” She put her hand out for him to take.

“What?” Stiles looked confused and she grinned wider.

“Come on! You’re coming home with me. We’ll have my mom call your dad and get you home that way. Besides,” she gave his hand a squeeze when finally he took hers. “You deserve cookies! You’re my hero, remember?

~~~~~

“Anyway, when I looked out the window and saw those creepy-looking men cross the road towards Cora, I knew something was wrong and raised a fuss until the bus driver pulled over and let me off. I just wish I hadn’t had to run so far.”

His hands were flying every which way and Cora stifled a grin as she mentally compared him to the windmills they were studying at school. She wondered how much electricity he could produce with that much motion.

Stiles shoved the rest of his chocolate chip cookie into his mouth, crumbs falling everywhere, and proceeded to chew with his mouth open. _Eeww!_ Cora grimaced and looked away, taking a dainty bite of her own cookie. _Boys are pigs!_

“You were very brave,” her mom told Stiles, voice low and sincere as she reached over and ruffled his super short hair. 

Stiles just looked at her with wide eyes that looked almost as if he wanted to cry and Cora couldn’t figure out why.

“My mom — she wouldn’t have wanted me to leave Cora alone with those men, you know? They just gave me a bad feeling in my gut. It’s important to do the right thing, you know?” His lips pressed together into an uncharacteristically thin line as he stared down at his fingers tracing the carved edges of the wood tabletop.

Cora sat her half eaten cookie back on the small plate in front of her. That’s right, Stiles’ mom died last year. She didn’t want to think about how horrible it would be to lose her mom. At least she had her siblings and the rest of her pack.

Stiles had no one except his dad.

Shaking off a cold chill that seemed to slide down her spine, Cora refocused in time to hear her mom say, “Well, I am very thankful you listened to your gut, young Stilinski. Your mom would be proud or you.”

Opening his mouth, Stiles hesitated before closing it again, looking up without saying anything. Based on how he had talked nonstop on their walk to her home, Cora got the feeling that didn’t happen very often. 

The doorbell rang just as he opened his mouth again and her mom stood, placing a hand briefly on Cora’s head.

“That will be your dad, Stiles. Why don’t you have another cookie while I let him in?” Sweeping from the room, her mom’s footsteps faded as she approached the front door.

At her mom’s prompting, both Cora and Stiles reached for another cookie, Cora nibbling at hers half-heartedly. If she focused, she could just make out the what her mom was saying to Stiles’ dad. Essentially, it was the truth, only leaving out the facts that were not so important for humans, such as that Cora and her family were werewolves, while the men Stiles had chased away were really werewolf hunters.

While desperately important to her mom and the pack, the Sheriff didn’t need to know. As Alpha, Cora’s mom would take care of the situation and protect Cora and the rest of the pack.

The echo of approaching footsteps on hardwood warned Cora that she’d better not let her mom catch her eavesdropping, so she finished off her cookie, murmuring, “Thank you, Stiles.” as her mom re-entered the kitchen, the Sheriff in tow.

The man stopped just inside the doorway, looking at his son with an expression Cora recognized as fond exasperation. “Stiles.”

“Dad!” Dropping the remains of his cookie, the boy jumped up, shoving his chair so that it squeaked on the hardwood floor and nearly toppled over. He raced around the table and launched himself at his father, arms wrapping around the Sheriff’s waist as he buried his face against the man’s belly.

Stiles’ father hugged him, holding the boy close for a moment before detangling himself and crouching down so that he was eye-level with his son. 

One hand resting on Stiles’ shoulder, the other moved to cup the back of Stiles’ neck. It reminded Cora of her mother when she scruffed one of the pack, establishing her authority. Staring directly into his son’s eyes, the Sheriff spoke,

“I hear you did a good deed today, son.” His voice was rough with emotion. “You witnessed a potentially bad situation and stepped up and did something about it. I’m proud of you.”

Stiles gave his dad a watery smile. “Thanks, Dad. I just tried to do what Mom would have wanted me to do.”

The Sheriff cleared his throat. “She’d be be real proud of you, too. However,” he paused and Cora prayed he wasn’t about to destroy his son’s ego with his next words. She and her mom both knew all too well that Stiles’s rash appearance had definitely saved her, maybe the pack as well.

Before the Sheriff could continue, Stiles spoke up. “I know, I know. I should have called you instead of leaving the safety of the bus. Thing is, I wasn’t sure you’d get there in time. For what it’s worth, I did have my my cell ready to dial 9-1-1..;” His voice trailed off and he stared at the floor.

“Hey, hey there, Stiles. You did good. You were a hero today.” He hooked his fingers under Stiles’s chin and tilted his head up so that Stiles was looking at him. Cora could see the love on his face. “Seriously, I couldn’t be prouder of you. You just scare me when you take risks like that. After losing your mom, you’re all I’ve got, Sport.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, too.”

~~~~~


	6. Part VI — Stiles

_I feel sorry for you, dude. You’ll be missing out on the best pizza in BH. (-:_

Stiles hit send on the text to Danny and twirled his smartphone like a top on the varnished surface of the scarred wood tabletop. The pack’s hacker had excused himself from the evening’s dinner, claiming to have _too much homework_ to meet up with Stiles, Isaac, Lydia, Jackson, and Cora for pizza, but Stiles had seen the looks flying back and forth between Danny and the recent addition to the lacrosse team. If Danny _wasn’t_ getting some play tonight with the new midfielder, Stiles would be sorely disappointed.

The door to Paolo’s Pizza Emporium flew open with a bang, the sound echoing through the high ceilinged, dimly lit dining room. Deep voices yelled, followed by a high-pitched scream. Bracing his hands on the table, Stiles pushed up to peer over the top of the high-sided corner booth he had claimed upon arrival. 

The newcomers appeared to be two men and a woman, all in their mid-to-late twenties and each wearing clothing that had seen better days. When he spotted the familiar shape of a handgun being waved around, Stiles ducked back down and slid to the floor under his table, clutching his phone like the lifeline it likely was. 

Fingers flying, he tapped out a text to Danny.

_Crap! 3 strngrs entred PPE w/ guns. Callin u now. Dont say anything or make a sound. Get hlp!_

No sooner had he hit send, than Stiles touched the screen to call Danny and put the phone on speaker. The measured sound of heavy footfalls approaching warned him to tuck the phone face down on the floor behind him.

Stiles could feel his heart racing as his fight or flight instincts battled while heavy, scuffed motorcycle boots clomped into view. Wide-eyed, he scrambled backwards as a scruffy bearded face featuring cold dark eyes appeared. The man waved a large calibre semi-automatic at Stiles, motioning him to emerge from under the table. When Stiles hesitated, electric blue eyes flashed at him and Stiles gasped aloud for Danny’s sake, “What’s wrong with your eyes, dude?”

“Get out here,” the man growled, his eyes normal again.

“Okay, okay. I’m coming. I see the gun already.”

Knowing he could delay no longer, Stiles crawled out on all fours, praying the apparent were wouldn’t notice the phone he was leaving behind. While he was at it, he prayed Danny had actually answered the phone and was listening to what was being said.

“What’s going on, dude? Is this a robbery? Why did your eyes flash blue? What do you want?” The last rapidly rambled sentence ended in a yelp of surprise as the man reacted to Stiles’ inability to stay silent.

“Move it.” Left hand clutching the gun, the man grabbed a fistful of Stiles’ jacket with his right hand and shoved the teenager between the neat rows of tables and chairs. 

“Dude, I’m moving. Geeze!” Stiles grumbled loudly as he stumbled and flailed while herded to where the other two intruders had gathered the restaurant’s staff and other patrons.

There were some twenty-odd people, including to Stiles’ absolute horror, three kids who looked to be under ten. Everyone was huddled in the corner near the doors to the bathrooms and kitchen. One of the kids was sobbing quietly.

It was early still, the evening rush not yet started, so at least the number of hostages was not as bad as it might have been, even so Stiles was terrified one of these innocent people might get hurt or, God forbid, killed.

What the hell was going on? These were no ordinary vagabonds or criminals; at least one was a dangerous Beta. Why were they in a mostly empty pizza joint holding people hostage?

While he really didn’t want anyone to get hurt, Stiles couldn’t help hoping the others’ control would slip — just a little — so he could figure out how many were weres and maybe what kind he was up against. If he knew that, maybe he could find a way to get word out through Danny to his dad, or more likely, given the presence of apparently rogue weres, the pack.

Stiles’ thoughts churned as though he had forgotten his morning dose of Adderall. Was the phone’s mic still picking up words or sounds anymore, now that they were across the restaurant from it? He hoped his brilliant phone ploy had at least provided _some_ information to Danny, and through him to the pack and Stiles’ dad.

It had been proven more than once that ordinary law enforcement was not able to effectively deal with supernatural threats — at least not without massive casualties. Convincing his dad to let the pack help in those instances had probably been one of the hardest sells of his life, and only possible since most everyone was eighteen or older. Stiles remained ever grateful his dad had finally conceded that perhaps _some_ things were best handled by the pack.

Stiles staggered when he was shoved the last few yards, appearing to lose his balance so that he would end up near where the kids were huddled, all the way back in the corner. They were behind a group of adults Stiles assumed were their parents or caretakers.

Arms swinging like drunken windmills as he fought for balance Stiles noticed the female perp moved far too fast to be merely human. _Crap, that made two._

“Sit!”

Bristling at both the order and the aggressive tone of the were-man behind him, Stiles swallowed his sarcastic response about not being the dog here. He knew from experience that dog jokes never went over well. Instead he dropped with little grace to join the other hostages seated on the hard tile floor. Best not to do anything that might put anyone at risk until he better understood what was going on.

For now, he planned to hang tight and try to keep things from spiraling out of control.

He was observing their captors, studying their body language and how they interacted. There were three total, including the one who had found him and who Stiles mentally nicknamed Klawz. Even though he lacked the red eyes of an Alpha, Klawz acted like the one in charge. The female was a scary looking brunette with wild, shoulder-length corkscrew curls, body art covering both shoulders and a figure Erica would envy. He thought of her as Biker Barbie. Finally there was a short, husky Latino sporting a thin mustache, a soul patch on his chin, and a snake tattoo on his neck. Stiles called him Viper.

Never relaxing his grip on the pistol he was carrying, Klawz waved it around to emphasize everything he said, even if he was speaking too low for Stiles to hear him. Klawz paced unceasingly between his partners, occasionally glancing towards the front door. Stiles didn’t need werewolf-y senses to recognize the tension and anxiety that bled off him.

Like Klawz, Biker Barbie kept her handgun ready, though her movements were slower, less frantic, more measured. Stiles wasn’t sure if she was more comfortable with the weapon or less so. Either way, she seemed somewhat less likely to shoot someone by accident. She leaned against the wall, across from the hostages, watching them silently with no expression on her face, almost daring one of the hostages to move or say something.

Meanwhile, Viper stood to the other side, silent and stoic, blocking the path to the front door. His hands were empty, but Stiles noticed how he kept clenching and releasing his fists as though trying to keep his claws in. He also carried himself as though his every muscle was a tightly wound spring. Stiles decided that after Klawz, Viper warranted the most attention because who knew what might make him snap or what he might do.

Without warning, all three weres froze and stared at the hostages. Something was up. Klawz’ eyes narrowed as he stalked towards them. Stiles tensed, wondering if he was going to have to have to do something stupid to draw the big were’s attention when the Beta leaned forward over Stiles and literally growled, “Give me the phone!”

Stiles froze until he realized Klawz was focusing, not on him, but on the woman just behind him. Slowly he turned his head to watch from his peripheral vision as a trembling hand raised the phone into view. Klawz grabbed it and for a moment, Stiles could hear a tinny voice from the phone, “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

 _Oh, geeze!_ Stiles barely controlled the urge to groan at the cluster this situation was rapidly becoming because seriously, what were the odds that a human would have heard that if the phone had been kept in a pocket? It wasn’t the hostages’ fault that their captors had supernatural hearing...

Seconds later, pieces of glass, plastic, and electronic components flew as the phone was crushed in what was now a lightly furred hand sporting razor sharp claws. Stiles hoped no one else noticed the partial transition. Regardless, there was a collective flinch from the surrounding hostages as Klawz dropped the ruined phone and stepped back, waving the handgun towards them once more.

“Anyone else want to be stupid?”

Stiles heard a choked sob from behind him and a small female voice kept whimpering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

No one else made a sound. After several long, tense seconds, Klawz grunted and turned away, Stalking towards the kitchen and leaving Stiles to stare at the scattered remains of the destroyed phone in front of him.

Forcing himself to take deep breaths, Stiles counted to ten even as another part of his brain raced to identify some way to diffuse the situation. Hesitantly he cleared his throat. 

“Hey...um, excuse me… um, sir?” He winced as his voice cracked on the last word.

Three pair of hostile eyes focused on him and Stiles thought he saw a brief flash of blue from the female’s eyes. _Oh lovely._ He swallowed hard before continuing.

“Wh-what is it that you need? What do you want from us?” He was playing up on his fear, but he honestly wanted to know. Maybe there was still a way to diffuse this situation.

Stiles wanted to draw attention away from the other hostages and he couldn’t have done a better job. Klawz stomped back across the restaurant to loom over where Stiles knelt. Sitting back on his heels, Stiles stared up at the were who leaned down until he was nose-to-nose with the human before letting the blue flare back into his eyes in warning.

Instinctively Stiles flinched but stubborn pride refused to let him lower his gaze until he felt the rumble of a low growl coming from the were. Maybe Stiles was more sensitive to it due to all the time he spent with the pack, but the moment he recognized it, he dropped his eyes to watch as his fingers worried at the frayed edges of a hole in his jeans.

“What I want is for all of you to shut the fuck up and just sit there! Don’t talk. Don’t move. And don’t call the fucking police!” Klawz roared the last. Stiles glanced up again to see Klawz' rage was almost a physical thing as his eyes flashed again when he turned away.

The other two perps continued to glare at the huddled hostages as Klawz got himself back under control.

At least everyone seemed to be able to control their shift, so the odds of not being unintentionally torn apart appeared to have improved. So, there was that. Stiles kept his head lowered so as to not appear to be challenging them even as he watched everything and everyone. Silently he prayed for the pack to arrive before a police response from the misguided 9-1-1 call. 

The bells over the door jangled, capturing the attention of all three weres and Stiles rose on his knees in an effort to see what poor sod had bumbled into the nightmare currently taking place. Klawz snarled and motioned for the other two to go investigate. “And lock that damn door, while you are at it! I don’t care if you have to barricade it; no one else comes through that door!”

“H-hello?”

Stiles knew that voice, though he never thought he’d hear the squeak that followed. Moments later, Biker Barbie reappeared, dragging a petite teenage girl by her long strawberry-blond hair.

The girl’s green eyes were huge as she spotted Stiles, kneeling at the front of the group of hostages.

“Lydia,” he breathed, and knew that the weres had heard him when Biker Barbie swung her arm, practically flinging Lydia towards the cluster of hostages.

The Banshee emitted a startled yelp and crashed into Stiles who automatically wrapped his arms around her, cushioning her fall as he fell back to cradle her in his lap.

Pressing her face into Stiles’ neck, Lydia gave a hiccupping sob and it took all Stiles’ self-control not to laugh at the idea of her being brought to tears by this situation after everything they had experienced since their sophomore year, well before coalescing into a pack.

“Shhh, shhh,” he soothed, knowing it was absolutely not necessary but for appearances. “Are you hurt?”

Lydia pulled back to meet Stiles’ gaze with eyes that he was not surprised to note were dry. Her back was to the weres, and enough of the hostages were still crying so there was no fear of them seeing or smelling that her sobs were only an act to allow Stiles and Lydia to communicate.

“W-what’s h-happening? I was talking to Danny on the way here and he totally bailed on us — the dweeb! He said he had already talked to Jackson so I wasn’t going to change his mind. Who are these people? What’sgoingon?” Lydia’s voice rose in a panic as she squirmed on his lap, fully engaged in her best airhead impersonation.

If Stiles still pined for her, his body might have made things awkward with an impromptu boner in response to all her wriggling, but instead Stiles had to bite back an automatic smile because the ditz in his arms was so _NOT Lydia_. He focused on the real meaning of what Lydia had said — the phone had worked! The pack was aware of what was happening and were on their way.

He felt the cool sense of relief flood his veins at the knowledge that he wasn’t in this alone; his pack had his back. Together they’d take down these rogues and keep these people safe!

“Just a misunderstanding, babe,” he soothed, brushing her hair back from her face. “Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

Lydia’s eyes flashed in a very non-wolf way and Stiles knew he was going to pay for that little endearment. She had well known opinions regarding what terms were and were not acceptable and ‘babe’ was near the top of the ‘Not’ list. Dang it! He just spent the past Saturday following Lydia through what felt like every store in the mall, carrying her purchases and running errands like some nonsexual Ganymede.

Only just remembering their current company, Stiles bit back his instinctive apology and accepted his probable fate in silence.

The weres froze, exchanging looks that sent a frisson of fear down Stiles’ spine even as Lydia tensed, a familiar far away look in her eyes as she listened to something he couldn’t hear.

Moments later, the distant wail of sirens approached and Stiles turned nervous eyes to Klawz to find him now pacing in front of a row of booths, all the while muttering under his breath. As occasional curse words drifted his way, Stiles realized everything had a nasty potential to go south at any moment.

His fear was confirmed as Klawz abruptly turned and stalked back towards the hostages, anger clear on his face.

“You had to go and call the goddamned police, didn’t you?” Klawz growled, looking like he was ready to tear someone from limb to limb.

_Shit._

They were so close. Stiles needed to keep the weres’ attention away from the other hostages until the rest of the pack made their move.

With slow movements, Stiles slid Lydia to the floor beside him. “You know,” he started as he rose once more to his knees in front of the other hostages. “My Dad’s the Sheriff… I could probably talk to him…”

“Stiles!” Lydia gasped even as Klawz moved faster than humanly possible, backhanding Stiles across the face.

Pain exploded across the left side of his face as hard were knuckles and the barrel of the gun impacted his cheek and skull.

_Fuck!_

Stiles’ vision went white as loud crashes came almost simultaneously from both near and far. He opened his eyes and blinked at the blurry but welcome sight of familiar bodies flying through the now permanently opened door to the kitchen.

A bloodthirsty howl was the only warning before a blonde imitation of the Tasmanian Devil hit Klawz, knocking him sideways and down. Stiles’ ears echoed with the report of a gun firing even as fire blossomed in his side.

“Everyone, stay down!” Lydia yelled in a voice that demanded obedience.

Forcing his eyes open again, Stiles found the world was now tilted on its side and he realized he was lying half on someone, looking up at two easily recognized backsides. Isaac and Cora had taken defensive positions between the rogue weres and the hostages.

Peering past them, he saw an unshifted Jackson wrestling with Biker Barbie and the dark and very human shadow of Boyd standing over an unmoving Viper. A thrashing sound continued off to the side, but Stiles was unable to tilt his head far enough to see how Erica’s battle with Klawz was progressing. 

Pain continued to pulse both along his side and in his head with every beat of his heart and Stiles refocused his attention on the fierce strawberry blonde leaning over him, hand pressing against his abdomen near his hip. Thoughts unfocused and meandering, Stiles almost smiled. He’d had dreams in the past about Lydia’s face hovering above his, only in his dreams the expression in her eyes had been softer and she hadn’t been so bossy when addressing him.

“Come on, Stiles, stay with me!” she ordered in a tone that brooked no nonsense.

There was a feminine curse and a loud groan and the commotion ended. Moments later, warm hands grasped his and the nausea-inducing pain began to fade even though the firm pressure being applied by Lydia did not ease. Stiles opened his eyes to peer up into Isaac’s concerned gaze. He flicked his eyes down to see familiar black trace up the veins of the other man’s forearms, disappearing beneath shirt sleeves.

“Thanksh, guys,” he slurred. “You saved us…”

Off to the side, Stiles heard Cora speak though it seemed to echo as though from a distance. “Yes sir, all three are subdued but we we need an ambulance, sir. Stiles was shot...”

*****

Stiles stared at the steps up to the porch and groaned. Maybe he’d just sleep in the backseat of his dad’s cruiser. He glanced back and considered the gross and disgusting things that had likely happened there. On second thought, that wasn’t the most desirable location...

“Come on, it’s not too much further,” his dad coaxed with a tired grin. It had only been a little over a day since the incident at the pizza parlor. Stiles had awoken in a hospital bed to his Dad sitting alongside him in a wrinkled uniform.

Stiles moved slowly; the painkillers were wearing off. He had been lucky, the bullet hadn’t even nicked his colon and the effects of the concussion had faded, so he’d been released with strict instructions to rest.

He could deal with that. Provided he found the energy to get up the steps in front of him.

The front door flew open and Scott, Isaac, Danny, Cora — heck, it looked like the entire pack was there — spilled out onto the porch to witness Stiles’ pained progress from the car. Stiles startled in surprise. Judging by the immediate looks of concern on the faces of the ‘wolves, he had apparently failed to bite back his groan at the sharp twinge in his side — damn werewolf hearing.

He blinked at the group in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re here to welcome you home, you moron.” Leave it to Jackson to not mince words.

“He’s not a moron,” Cora gave Jackson a disgusted look, modulating it to a full on smile when she looked back at Stiles. “Stiles is a hero.”

Disconcerted by Cora’s unexpected defense of him, Stiles cleared his throat, “Umm, I don’t know if you noticed, but you guys kind of had to rescue me.” He felt obligated to point out that crucial little fact.

Erica vaulted over the porch railing, not wobbling in the slightest as her two inch-heeled boots hit the soft ground. Freaking werewolf super-abilities. Gently pressing up along Stiles’ left side, she offered support if Stiles wanted it without making assumptions.

He wanted it, wrapping his arm across Erica’s shoulders and leaning heavily against her, he let her take charge.

“Enough with the talking. C’mon, Batman, let’s get you inside.”

Stiles glanced back at his dad as he was helped up the steps and herded inside, but the Sheriff just stood in front of his car, watching with a bemused expression, as though a pack of still mostly teen-aged werewolves taking over his home was something that happened every day. Then again…

In no time at all, Stiles was ensconced on the sofa, a can of soda on the coffee table in front of him and a plate containing chips, dip, and a corner piece of the white iced, chocolate, ‘Welcome Home, Hero’ cake resting on his lap. 

Looking around at the room filled with talking, laughing, eating, and — of course in Jackson’s case — complaining pack members, Stiles felt compelled to mention reality again. “Dudes, really… not a hero. _You_ had to save _me_. I was the idiot who got _shot_ , for cryin’ out loud.”

Lydia huffed and set her plate aside, leaning forward to give Stiles 100% of her annoyance. “Yes, Stiles, you are an idiot. You knowingly and intentionally went unarmed up against three werewolves. That was incredibly stupid.”

Various pack members nodded in apparent agreement and Stiles frowned. That wasn’t the point he was trying to make. If they were trying to cheer him up, they needed to work on their bedside, or rather couch-side, manner.

“However,” Lydia paused for effect. “Everything you did, you did in an effort to protect innocent people and _that_ makes you a hero.”

Stiles felt his face heat in response to her words. _Dangit!_ A few short years ago, hearing Lydia sing his praises seemed like such a pipe dream; so much had changed. Now, however, it just embarrassed him and made him uncomfortable as hell. From across the room, he caught Derek’s gaze and the other man smirked at Stiles’ discomfort.

“I only did what anyone else would have done,” Stiles muttered.

“Funny, I don’t recall anyone else in that restaurant intentionally drawing the attention of an irate rogue werewolf,” Lydia said pointedly.

Pushing his cake around with his fork, Stiles ignored everyone. He knew what he had done had been incredibly stupid; all he needed to do was wait for the pack to arrive. But then it had looked as though Klaws was going to go after the woman who had dialed 9-1-1 and Stiles just couldn’t let that happen...

“You just did what you do, Stiles.” Scott spoke up, breaking into Stiles thoughts, causing him to look up again, only to find the entire pack’s attention still focused on him. “You did what you’ve always done. You were looking out for others and _that_ is what makes you a hero.”

“As for us saving you?” Danny smiled at Stiles, dimples flashing. “Let’s just say that we owed you one.”

~fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for reading this little fic! I'm so glad you stayed with me on this journey and hope you enjoyed it! Your kudos, comments, subscriptions, and bookmarks feed my soul and my muse and are incredibly appreciated!
> 
> All mistakes are mine, though if you spot one, please let me know so I can fix it. =D Constructive criticism is always welcome!
> 
> I can also be found [HERE](http://kissofflame.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. <3

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome podficcing of any of my stories with a request to let me know so I may squee over your efforts and a caveat that the work be linked back to my posted work. Many thanks and kind regards.


End file.
